


With bells on

by wanderingsmith



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 20:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1616387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingsmith/pseuds/wanderingsmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>crack: braid + bells + mud + Thorin<br/>...well.. Bilbo's in there too, of course :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	With bells on

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I ain't got no money, and nobody'd be daft enough to pay me for this. As it is thought, so let it be said; you make the toys, I play with 'em.
> 
> Result of a random conversation with Bofursunboundbraids :)

Bilbo woke slowly; not particularly comfortable, but too sore after the last few days to care about anything but laying still. Especially seeing as there was no comfortable bed within walking distance.

The sound of spoons in bowls, however, made it plain he would soon be forced up by their illustrious leader, no matter how he felt about it.

He muttered under his breath as he stretched, still annoyed at the lecture he'd gotten when he'd finally made it into camp last night. He was trying to *help* his royal gruffness! But could the confounded dwarf find even a smidgen of respect for any abilities that did not relate to *axe or sword*?? NO! 

Just *how* did he expect Bilbo to scout out WARGS, of all things, by any means OTHER than stepping quietly?? It was hardly the hobbit's fault if dwarrows were obviously deaf, most likely due to their thick heads.

Finally standing, he frowned at the strange sound of bells, wondering which of his companions had decided to add some annoying new toy to their blasted hair routines. And speaking of that... he touched the side of his head above his ear and sighed, discouraged at yet another bit of bad luck. His braiding skills were still pitiful. He could either redo the braid of intent and listen to insulted whining at its loose and lumpy imperfection.. or crawl to his arrogant knuckle-headed would-be mate to ask him to put it back in.

Too frustrated for words, he stomped his foot, wishing it was on a dwarven posterior. Jerking his eyes down at the sharp tinkle that resulted.

Only to find that the feeling of matted hair that he'd assumed was from mud on his beautiful *straight* foot hairs, was that confounded braid! With BELLS woven in!!!

"THORIN!!!"

He never could decide if discovering his own voice could roar like that was more satisfying than seeing the King of Erebor fall off his log and into a mud puddle.


End file.
